Writer

“A game show?” Ira asked.
“You bet your ass, but it won’t be the regular boring shows the sheeple watch during the day. This one will be unique because, well, it’s Japanese. They know entertainment.”

Ryūki walked into the dining room sweating, he’d gone on a fifteen-mile run this morning in the Kenyan foothills. He poured himself a mug of coffee and the smallest smile perked after his first sip. “Good coffee.” He said.

“Ryūki, did you watch any game shows when you were growing up in Japan?” Ira asked.
“No.” Ryūki answered, drinking his coffee.
Ira sighed, “Well who’s going to be the host Grigs? You?”

Grigsby was preoccupied with trying to get an old toaster to work. He was craving cinnamon and cardamom toast, a special dish his daughter Becky loves. Grigsby missed his girls and Pemberton Manor’s amenities.

“Grigs!” Ira shouted. “Are you the host of this silly game show?”

Grigsby abandoned the toaster and faced his upset friend. “I’m not going to be the host.” Grigsby pointed at Ryūki, “He is.”

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